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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944348">First Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet'>AceMoppet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baby’s first crush awww, F/F, First Love, Flowers, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sometimes you have a crush on a girl and you gotta grow her a flower, Triss’ Conduit Moment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:02:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Triss makes a flower grow, she is thirteen and in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Triss Merigold/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>First Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Moving this over from my tumblr @acemoppet! This was originally written right after the second presidential debate cause fuck that bs. This will probably be a part of a larger story I’m working on at this point, so stay tuned!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first time Triss makes a flower grow, she is thirteen and in love.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The baker’s daughter has hair the color of a raven, all curly and bouncy, sort of like Triss’ own hair. Her smile is the crescent moon, and her night-dark hands look so pretty when she hands Triss the bread she just bought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Say hi to your mother for me!” she says, bounding back inside. Triss, who can only feel her heart rushing in her ears, tightens her grip on the loaf lest her trembling hands let it fall into the mud.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she whispers, belatedly, to a girl who has already fluttered away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They keep meeting, because of course they do. Triss and her mother don’t stay too long in many places, but they will stay as long as they are needed. Sometimes, that means they have to stay until the end of an illness, but fortunately, this time they only have to stay until the mayor’s wife gives birth. A happier occasion, and one Triss would look forward to if it didn’t mean the end of all her meetings with the girl with pretty hands and prettier smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One day, she overhears the baker’s daughter lament the lack of lilacs in the herbalist’s garden- apparently the few that had grown this year had been eaten by insects, and now there were none left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not like we need lilacs, dearie,” her mother clucks as she kneads.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” the girl sighs. “But they’re very pretty Ma- wish I could’ve seen at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> this year!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother says… something. Triss doesn’t hear, her mind already whirring away in thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s coaxed vines into growing, guided fruits into ripening. Surely she could make a flower bloom?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>...It takes weeks. Every spare bit of her time is devoted to learning about lilacs, what conditions they favor, and how to best keep them. She snags a lilac seed pouch from her mother- she’ll not notice, and if she does, well. She’s always encouraged Triss’ endeavours.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The clock turns against her- winter arrives with a blanket of snow and a cold that seeps into bones. The mayor’s wife starts struggling to move around and is soon confined to the bed- she will give birth in the next three days, her mother says, not noticing Triss stiffen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Three days. Triss has three days, if even that much.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She pours all her energy into the small pouch, curling her fingers to coax out even the tiniest of blooms. It’s no use- the pouch stays brown and whole, and all she has to show for her effort are strained eyes, a cracked voice, and spasming fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rooster crows on the third day. Triss sighs and throws on her cloak to head to the market for the last time. Before she walks out the door, she sees the little bag of seeds. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Overnight, some frost had creeped in and melted, soaking the packet straight through. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wheels turn in Triss’ head, but before she can think, she raises her hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please grow,” she says, curling her fingers one last time. “Please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> grow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is a moment where the world goes still, breath and death frozen in the universe’s heartbeat. And when it starts again…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sprout pokes out of the packet, and from there forms a bud. Slowly, the bud unfurls, petals curling back and back and back until finally-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-she’s made a blossom. On the very last day she will ever see the baker’s daughter, Triss </span>
  <em>
    <span>made </span>
  </em>
  <span>a blossom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She snatches the packet, flower and all, and runs towards the market. The icy morning stabs at her throat, but she dares not stop, dares not even slow, lest-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She rounds the corner and nearly bumps into the baker’s daughter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” she says, before smiling. “Did you need something?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Triss swallows. “Yes,” she croaks, holding out the satchel. “For. For you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The girl frowns before taking the packet. Then her eyes catch the bloom, and she gasps.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A lilac,” she says, transfixed. “It’s a lilac. But how…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Triss’ cheeks could melt snow. “You said once that you wished you could see a lilac this year,” she says, voice still rough from her mad dash. “We- we had some lilac seeds and I…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The girl looks at her, and Triss cannot look away, is helpless and drowning in the dark of her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then she smiles, and oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Now she knows the true meaning of helplessness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she says, pulling the packet with the bloom close to her heart. “Thank you so much.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d do more, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Triss does not say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <span>“You’re welcome,” she says instead, and if it sounds close to </span>
  <em>
    <span>I adore you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>well. That is just on the nose for this whole endeavor.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>Lilacs mean first love, after all.</p>
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